


Players Only Love You When They're Playing

by MoMoMomma



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Consent, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Past Dubious Consent, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew it would happen sooner or later. Some things you can see, some you can prevent and some you can’t. It’s part of being a parent, he supposes. You can watch your kid start the car and know they’re going down a dangerous road, but sometimes you just can’t get to them in time before the breaks fail. </p>
<p>But you can pick up the pieces afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Players Only Love You When They're Playing

**Author's Note:**

> *******Obviously this contains consensual sex between a father/child. If this isn't your cup of tea, please skip this one and read another one of the many awesome fics on here. Also, while it isn't explicitly mentioned, Stiles is underage here. *****
> 
> This was written for an awesome anonymous prompt on tumblr for Stiles having sex with someone, them saying it was nothing more than a quick fuck, and Sheriff comforting him when he gets home. I really hope I did a good job, nonners! You certainly waited long enough for this one.

John knew it would happen sooner or later. Some things you can see, some you can prevent and some you can’t. It’s part of being a parent, he supposes. You can watch your kid start the car and know they’re going down a dangerous road, but sometimes you just can’t get to them in time before the breaks fail.

But you can pick up the pieces afterwards.

Which is exactly why he’s leaning his forehead against Stiles’ bedroom door this late at night, hearing the muffled sobs from within, heart aching in his chest. It takes everything in him to knock, to respect the privacy of a closed door, despite every instinct telling him to kick the damn thing down and rip apart whatever did this to his boy.

The sobs cut off abruptly at the sound of his knuckles against the wood, scrambling inside telling him Stiles is trying to make himself presentable somehow and that hurts worse. To think that whatever happened is so bad his boy is hiding it so desperately.

He thought they were past not trusting each other.

The door finally cracks open, Stiles’ blotchy face appearing in the space. His eyes are dry but the skin around them is red and puffy, cheeks flushed and lips slick and wet. Stiles always did look pretty when he cried, something that tore John apart even worse. He looked more delicate with tears streaming down his cheeks, like some god of the wilds to be protected with bloodshed and violence at any imagined slight.

“Hey, kiddo.” He said softly, Stiles smiling tightly at him, leaning his head against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

Stiles nodded, likely not wanting to give away the hoarseness of his voice, swinging the door wide and taking a few steps back. John stepped in and pointedly didn’t look anywhere but Stiles as he followed him to perch on the edge of the bed, watching the way Stiles shifted around uncomfortably before settling. He’d seen that before, the careful way of holding oneself, when bone deep aches and pains were only a muscle shift away.

“What happened?” John asked, cutting to the chase, beating down the rage inside him at the way Stiles’ flinched and picked at his comforter.

He hoped he didn’t have to drag it out of the boy. Stiles looked exhausted to begin with, the remnants of a breakdown only making it look worse, and John didn’t know if he had the heart to pick and pull until he got the whole story.

Luckily enough, whatever it was had been bad enough Stiles didn’t even try to so much as deflect or play dumb.

“We were—“ Stiles cleared his throat like it would help with the hoarse tone before continuing, body still save for his hands as they twisted and twined with one another. “We were at the club, the Jungle, and I—ah—met a guy. And he seemed interested and he was really nice, yknow? Seemed interested in _me_.” Stiles let out a derisive snort and John could have swore he heard him murmur “should’ve been my first hint” under his breath but he continued before John could say anything.

“So we had a few drinks and he invited me to come home with him. I figured, what the hell right? Can’t be a virgin forever, why not go for it. So we got there and, I mean it was all consensual, but he was kinda rough and didn’t really wanna take it slow. Which, hey, neither did I. But it hurt, more than I thought it should have, and I didn’t even—he did, but I didn’t. And he didn’t really seem to care afterwards. Just kinda got up and walked towards the bathroom and told me to close the door behind myself when I left.”

John swallowed back the rage that burst within him, fire racing through his blood and making his hands shake as he reached out to lay a firm hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. His boy—his gorgeous, beautiful, smart boy—had been taken advantage of. Whether he saw it that way or not. But as much as John wanted to demand details, to go knock the bastard’s door down and teach him respect, he had more important things to worry about.

Like making sure his baby boy was alright.

“Are you okay? Bleeding? Anything like that?”

Stiles flushed bright red at his questions, shifting with a wince and curling closer to John, speaking into the fabric of the old tee he wore.

“I don’t—um—I don’t think so? But I dunno. I just kinda yanked my clothes on and booked it outta there.”

John shook his head and shifted, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulling the boy in tight for a moment before releasing him.

“We gotta check, okay? Just to make sure you’re alright. Go ahead and strip and I’ll grab some stuff from the bathroom.”

Stiles nodded, sighing into him once more before straightening. John took a moment to look him over before nodding himself and pushing to his feet, striding from the room. He took a few seconds to compose himself in the bathroom, breathing heavily through his nose, gripping onto the sink so hard he thought he could yank it from the wall if he tried. Someone had laid hands—rough, uncaring hands—on his perfect boy. Stiles deserved better. Stiles deserved someone who would worship him like the gift he was.

_Someone like you_ , a vicious voice hissed in the back of his mind, making John’s hands shake and fumble as he wet a washcloth.

Goddamnit. He had kept those feelings buried, thought they had disappeared completely by now. But with Stiles filling out, becoming more man than boy every day, it wasn’t shocking they were back. John shoved the thoughts away once more, picking up the washcloth and ringing it out before starting back to Stiles’ room.

Once he stepped through the door he had to grit his teeth to avoid letting loose a moan. _Fuck_. His wonderful boy was laying on his stomach on the bed, stripped down to just his tee shirt, red marks from rough hands fading on his hips and cheeks. John inhaled slowly once, twice, before going over, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing a hand against Stiles’ calf, smiling at the way the boy didn’t even jump, just lazily turned his head to smile at him. His face was quickly clearing up, the skin fading back to its normal color, though a flush still ran high on his cheekbones.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, cuddling closer to the pillow he had his arms wrapped around, hair mussing as he rubbed into it. “I know you’ll take care of me, Dad. You’ll fix it like you do everything.”

“Yeah, baby. I’ll fix it.” John sent him a soft smile that Stiles returned, spreading his legs wider and letting John settle between them at the end of the bed.

He had to take a moment to breathe slowly in and out at the sight of Stiles’ soft balls sitting there so innocently, one of his most intimate parts exposed to John without even the slightest thought he could be a threat. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch them, softly stroke them until Stiles was grinding into the bed, but John firmly slammed that part away alongside all the other thoughts.

It wouldn’t do to get any harder than the slight stiffness he was already sporting; Stiles might notice.

“I’m gonna take a look and see if you’re bleeding or anything, alright?” John asked, Stiles making a soft noise of assent and cuddling further into his pillow.

Lying the washcloth over one of Stiles’ thighs, John reached up and swallowed tightly before laying one hand on each of Stiles’ cheeks, pulling them apart. The sight of Stiles’ tight hole, red and raw-looking, had John’s breath catching in his throat, a soft sound escaping as it clenched and relaxed under his gaze.

“Is there any blood?” Stiles’ shaky voice broke John from his reverie, the boy’s lower back flexing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over his shoulder.

John shook his head no, not trusting himself to speak yet, reaching for the wash cloth and running it gently over the sore muscle. Stiles let out a soft gasp at the pressure, until John shushed him and squeezed the flesh still in his hand.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’m just trying to soothe it. You’re so red here.”

“He wasn’t even that big.” Stiles grouched, his bratty boy coming out in full force now that his Dad was near. “I didn’t think it was gonna hurt that bad.”

“Shouldn’t have hurt much at all.” John snapped, gently rubbing the damp cloth over his hole a few more times before tossing it aside, looking up to meet Stiles’ wide gaze. “With proper prep and patience, it doesn’t hurt. It feels good from the get go.”

Stiles was quiet for long moments, long enough that John shuffled back a bit and prepared to push himself off the bed. He could say his goodnights, go back to his room, and bite back moans and gasps as he jerked off to the thought of his baby coming to him instead of faceless strangers like he had for many nights now. Before he could, though, Stiles spoke again, the words freezing him in place.

“Show me?”

“What?” John blinked as he swung his gaze up only to find Stiles was staring down at the pillow, cheeks that same red once again as he chewed on his lower lip.

“S-show me? Show me how…um…good it can be?”

“I—“ The protests died in John’s throat at the way Stiles spread his legs and arched, looking alluringly innocent as he met John’s eyes for the first time.

“Daddy….please?”

All thoughts of how wrong it was, of how Stiles didn’t know—couldn’t know—what he was asking for, how John was damning them both flew out of his head at the whine in his boy’s voice and he nodded, swallowing with a suddenly dry throat.

“I can’t—can’t fuck you, sweetheart. You’re too sensitive.” John said, slowly sliding his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs as they parted further around him, Stiles sighing into the pillow, lips curling into a smile.

“But?” He prompted, wriggling his ass into John’s hand and bringing forth a smile from the older man as well before he playfully pinched at the white flesh, leaving a mark of his own that had Stiles yelping with a laugh.

“But I can show you how it’s supposed to be. How the person you’re with is supposed to be focused on you, wanting you to come, wanting to see you in pleasure before taking their own.”

“And when I’m all better, you _will_ take your own, right, Daddy?” Stiles asked, twisting to meet his eyes once more as John grinned and nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to the soft skin where Stiles’ thighs met the curve of his ass, nipping lightly.

“Oh yeah. If you still want it, of course.”

“Want it always.” Stiles said, John trailing kisses over his skin, up one cheek and across his lower back and down the other, trying to hide his surprise at the words. “Wanted you forever. Just didn’t know…didn’t know if you wanted me too.”

“You should’ve told me.” John reprimanded him softly, spreading his cheeks open once more, Stiles shivering and pressing up into his hands.

God, if what was Stiles was saying was true, all the opportunities and time they had wasted….

“Why?” Stiles’ voice had changed, something playful slipping into his tone as John rubbed his thumbs in slow circles against soft flesh.

“Because then you wouldn’t have had to go to some rough _boy_.” John murmured, leaning in to lick a slow stripe over Stiles’ red hole, whatever the boy’s response was going to be falling away in a gasp.

He hadn’t done this in a while, not since college, but the memories came back quickly enough, reminding John just how to flatten his tongue, how to tease and nip with the right amount of pressure, how to alternate between flat licks and pointed thrusts until Stiles was whining and shoving halfway up onto his knees. He could still taste the chemical sting of a condom, thanking everything out there that the boy had had enough sense to use one, and went to work stripping it from the boy’s skin with lazy strokes of his tongue.

Stiles was half-mindless, pushing back into his mouth, fully up onto his knees now, and John took a moment to lean back, shifting a hand over to rub his thumb against the slick hole as his boy shook and shivered. His cock was hanging down hard between his legs, red and sensitive looking, balls drawn up tight against his body already. It made sense, John mused, leaning down to suck one into his mouth and roll it against his tongue, hearing Stiles shout at the unexpected move. If the idiot who’d taken him hadn’t cared about whether or not Stiles got off then the boy was long overdue for a good orgasm.

“I want you to work your cock for me, baby boy.” John said, Stiles sobbing at the command, one hand disappearing from John’s view only to reappear lower, long fingers wrapping gingerly around his cock.

He watched for a few moments, eyes trailing over the way Stiles jacked himself, committing to memory the pace he liked, how his thighs shook and jerked when he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. John murmured out a soft “good boy” before leaning in and pressing his mouth back to the quickly relaxing hole.

God, Stiles opened so beautifully under his gentle touches. The muscle that had once been clenched so tightly, red and hurt, was relaxing under his ministrations, going pliant and soft as John’s tongue soothed all the pain away. He could tell how easily the boy would open for his cock—a thought that made him even more mad that they had both kept such a secret from one another for so long—and it made him groan, imagining how it would feel to sink inside Stiles for the first time.

His thoughts were interrupted by Stiles’ shaky voice, words falling from his mouth alongside all the moans and whines.

“D-Daddy, I’m gonna…I’m so close, your mouth feels so good and I can’t—“

“Come, baby boy. Come for me. It’s all right.” John shushed him, stroking one hand down his flank reassuringly even as he opened Stiles up with his tongue, thrusting it inside.

He could feel the second it happened, Stiles clenching down around his tongue, thigh muscles bunching under John’s hand as he screamed, half-formed words of thanks intermixed with John’s name and ‘Daddy’ filling the room. He licked him through it, gentling the strokes of his tongue towards the end, until Stiles was flopping back onto the mattress, boneless and shivering in the aftermath. It wasn’t until John shifted up to lay a soft kiss against Stiles’ shoulder that it occurred to him he was still hard in his jeans, cock pressing up against his zipper in the most uncomfortable way. The thought was fleeting though, his own pleasure taking a backseat to ensuring Stiles was alright.

“You okay, baby boy? Feel a little better?”

“Feel perfect, Daddy.” Stiles answered with a soft groan, stretching under him and turning over onto his side, twisting his neck to grin up at him with all the lazy contentment a good orgasm brought. “Are _you_ okay? You didn’t…um…”

“I will.” John said with a laugh, shaking his head at Stiles’ flush and swatting at his hip when Stiles cocked it up to press it against where his cock tented the front of his pants. “But not now. Right now I’m going to go brush my teeth and we’re gonna strip the bed and then you’re gonna come to Daddy’s room and sleep, alright? You’ve had a hell of a night.”

“But tomorrow?” Stiles protested, sitting up alongside John as the older man climbed from the bed, groaning at the way his knees ached and back cramped from being curled over for so long.

God, he hoped Stiles didn’t wind up wanting to try anything too adventurous. John wasn’t sure he was up for explaining that one to Melissa when he inevitably had to drive to the ER because of a pulled muscle.

“When you’re feeling better,” John answered, stretching where he stood and smacking at the way Stiles’ hand came out instantly to poke at his stomach, a long standing tradition in their house that had become more routine that anything else. “Then we’ll take care of me, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Stiles agreed, bouncing up to pull him into a hug, nuzzling into his shoulder, still moving with the gangly awkwardness satisfaction brought.

John held him close for long moments, wrapping arms tight around him and hugging him close. Some accidents were preventable, others you had to watch happen right in front of your eyes. Like a snapshot of motion froze in place, kids were a constant danger, to themselves, to others, and rarely did they stop long enough for a parent to catch up. But the damn good part about being a parent was that you could _always_ be there to pick up the pieces, no matter how tiny they were, and put them back together again.

And in some cases, and definitely in theirs, the picture looked even more beautiful with the cracks and jagged edges of past mistakes than it ever had whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna talk about Stilinskicest? Wanna drop a prompt in my ask box? Wanna come scream with me about fandoms and watch me flail over writing? Come visit me at my tumblr!


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